“this is not all we are”
the familiar refrain rings;
“beyond the pale a new life awaits”
holds out hope for the hopeless,
but i find it harder these days
to look past the mere matter
and see what lies beyond
with my vision obscured
by beer/wine/whisky
and my desire hijacked
by greed/lust/pleasure;
so the beyond disappears
in its very invisibility,
and the present intrudes
by its extreme tangibility,
filling my senses to the max,
demanding my attention.
In with the old
and out with the new
I’m looking forward to
trying something crude,
trying something old
that’s never been tried before;
perhaps for this year,
the thing to do
will be to resolve
to not do anything new,
to hold on to the things of yore
not caring if they are a bore.
it happens everyday
i can’t make it go away;
with every drink i take
my bowels begin to wake,
begin to press and make such a clamor
that i wonder if i swallowed a hammer,
and so inadvertently i make my way
giving in to the unanswerable sway
of the pressure down below
raging like a bellows.
Schmurpose
Burpuse
That’s what I’ve thought lately
about finding my identity
where i’m supposed to be
and in what capacity,
what i’m supposed to do
and how best to please you.
The only conclusion then to reach
is that i’d rather just be on the beach,
sipping from a strong drink
and trying my best not to sink
into the quicksand of oblivion
brought on by my suffocating boredom.
Oh to consider the futility
of writing sorry poetry,
poems that only a mother could love
but that MY mother would disprove of;
so I keep them a secret from her
so as not to experience her displeasure,
consigning myself to anonymity
by not revealing my identity.
I thought that growing up
in a broken home
was good
because Christmas lasted
a whole nother day
and Santa brought double the goods;
but now I see
that being married is better
because I still get the spoils,
of my divorced parents,
along with another Christmas
with a new family
and double the spoils.
I scoff at the absurdity
that we can get fit
on a video game,
the culprit of sedentariness,
but you might just be fun enough
to make me enjoy exercise
placing you among the glorious ranks
of basketball, ultimate frisbee, and…
is the list really that short?
Crap, I gotta get fit.
Often my poetry
deals with the obscene,
the dirty, filithity, of grossness,
but until I reach a gross of gross poems,
I will persevere.
Onward and Downward!
For singing loudly
the craproom reigns supreme,
amazing accoustics.
i want to write,
to be a star,
to make riches,
to believe in me
but instead
the ideas refuse to cum,
to mate and create words,
leaving an impotence
of silence;
and so i make a snack,
raid some tombs,
read on the toilet,
fix a drink,
make my brain fuzzy
as an excuse for the
non-bursting,
un-gushing,
nay-exploding,
masterpiedic,
self-pleasuring words.
I tried to categorize
my political views today
and this is out what came:
pseudo liberalish,
at times,
I often like to think,
though probably not as much,
as I often like to think.
few constants exist in life,
but there will always be:
death and taxes
and the perpetual,
obsessive need
to save Christmas
just like johnny five
i feel that i’m alive
struck into being
by a bolt of lightning
constructed of metal
and feeling like a rental
and so I read
and so I feed
and so I drive
and so I thrive
but what is life
without a laser, a phaser, a taser
every day now,
another one comes
with smiling faces
shot in happy places
filled with happy couples
looking devoid of troubles.
but an honest card came today
obstaining from
pictures,
places,
smiling faces;
speaking of
illness,
pain,
divorce,
death
hurrying to get through the letter
hurrying to get through the holidays
looking for hope in a new year
with no reason to hope that
anything will ever be any different.
In that welcome phrase
is found all of the necesities
of a happy, joyous life,
traveling the road,
going to and fro,
never stopping, always moving,
observing, trying, surviving,
new things, new adventures, new places,
new people, new voices, new faces,
seeing giant balls of string,
and giant bells that ring,
towers that scrape the sky,
and fields that roll before the eye.
For what else is there for longing
after gas, food, and lodging?
head drooping
eyes nodding
thoughts sticking
brain fuzzy
kneck wobbly
words slurry
julio sleepy
Five days later
and the thankfulness
has wained
but not the turkey.
I welcomest thou
and praisest thou
for giving unto me
an excuse,
nay an explanation,
nay a justification
for my in progress
male-pattern balding,
unexcused by my previous 26 years.
Hurtling along these highway streets,
traveling through the night
as the music pounds its way
into my head, heart, soul
driving!
Pushing!!
POUNDING!!!
faster!
Further!!
HARder!!!
HARDER!!!!
into the night,
into the darkness,
into the music,
wherever it may lead
Today I want to be an editor
starring at a computer all the day.
Yesterday it was an advisor
pretending to be busy all the day.
Sometimes I want to be a teacher
until I start to teach all the day.
Tomorrow I want to be a writer
if I can only focus all the day.
the sieve and the sand 
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